


Tomorrow (You Won't Be Mine)

by euhemeria



Series: And, In Sign of Ancient Love, Their Plighted Hands They Join [83]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: ...in the final chapter, Begrudging Allies to Friends to Lovers, Canonical Character Death, F/F, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:15:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24729556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euhemeria/pseuds/euhemeria
Summary: "I’m not attracted to her,” Ana insists, and this is not a lie—although later, it will be.  Later, Ana will look at Mina, and wonder how she did not notice, before, the myriad of enchanting things about her.  She will look, will see that Mina is beautiful, that she always has been, and she will tell herself that what she feels is not love, and it will be a lie.Or,Ana falls slowly in and out of love with Liao, without ever finding the right words for what it is she feels for Mina.
Relationships: Ana Amari/Mina Liao
Series: And, In Sign of Ancient Love, Their Plighted Hands They Join [83]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/508281
Comments: 11
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is a bday gift for my good friend max (@snowybeam on twitter)! happy bday to them!!! <3
> 
> also ive been saying since we heard the name liao that if she was a woman i WOULD write fic of her and ana. so im making good on that now. it took me a few months bc okay i was a little depressed that she was IMMEDIATELY killed off but ive bounced back. i can live with a little tragedy
> 
> ALSO to be very clear sam and ana are still married in the first chapter of this fic, but its far before ana and mina get together. there is NO cheating
> 
> & before u even get to ana's comment abt israel... Im Jewish and also israeli-egyptian relations being shit is just a fact

When Ana and Mina meet, Ana rather expects that she is going to hate Doctor Liao, from all that she has heard of the woman. It is no secret that Doctor Liao’s work on artificial intelligence was instrumental at Omnica Corp, and it is no secret, either, that the esteemed doctor still stands by her work, believes that artificial intelligence is not inherently evil, is in fact more likely to be good, even as the death tolls reported on the news every day argue otherwise.

Why Gabriel wants to recruit a woman like this is beyond Ana, who does not want to be anywhere near a proponent of artificial intelligence right now, and _certainly_ does not trust the woman whose work caused the Omnic Crisis—a war they are very much still fighting—to watch her back. Doctor Liao has never even been in the field.

Neither had Torbjörn, when they recruited him a few weeks ago, and Ana can admit that perhaps there is a double standard at play here, but he always argued _against_ AI, never trusted the tech, even when he worked at Omnica Corp. That distrust is a comfort to Ana now, even if she prefers to rely on her own instincts and abilities over his technology. At least his work is on weapons of war, something that can be useful to Ana, in the field, and not artificial intelligence. Unless they intend to fight the Omnics with more Omnics, Ana hardly sees the point in recruiting Doctor Liao, unless it is to ensure she is not doing anything else.

(That, Ana would not put past Gabriel. He has always preferred to keep his enemies close at hand.)

Given the state of the world, right now, Ana does not think she can be faulted for not being ready to trust Doctor Liao. Anyone who can look at their world as it is now, with Omnics pushing for the extinction of humanity—genocide, it would be called, were they the same species—and argue that artificial intelligence can be used to enhance the world, to help humanity, is either a fool, or on the side of the Omnics. That is a fact.

And so Ana knows she will not like this Doctor Liao, because she knows that the woman is no fool.

She does not particularly attempt to hide this feeling, either. When she and Jack are sent by Gabriel to recruit Doctor Liao, Ana leaves it to Jack to grin widely and welcome her—something he is good at, appearances—and stays back, silent. There is nothing she has to say to Doctor Liao which would encourage her to join this new strike team Gabriel has been asked by the United Nations to form.

Gabriel knows this, knows how Ana feels, but he knows, too, that she is a good soldier, and given the order to say nothing out of line, she will follow it. All she has to do is be there; Gabriel thinks that Doctor Liao will be more likely to join this little military venture of theirs if she knows they are not all men with more firepower than sense. The optics of her presence, Ana can understand, and so she agreed to go, and is here still, visibly not a man, with an accent that makes clear, too, that she is not Western, either.

That is important—it is. And it is something Ana pushed for, when she saw Gabriel’s other two recruits, a pair of white Europeans. Beggars cannot be choosers, of course, and the war has made beggars of them all, but Gabriel understood Ana’s concerns, when she brought them to him; after all, he himself is a man of color, and he knows what the United Nations has done, in the past, what agendas it has advanced, even if he is an American citizen. It is important that they not be mostly white men, if they are to save the entire world, if they are to remind themselves that the priority targets, the cities _worth saving_ in the eyes of the United Nations, should not all be in Europe or North America.

(Of course, Ana’s husband and daughter are in Canada right now, because the Omnic Crisis came slower there than in Egypt, and so she, too, may be biased towards assisting certain cities there, but that is not what this team they are forming is for. At least ostensibly, they are meant to protect the whole world, as best they are able.)

So, on the surface, Ana ought to be happy about the recruitment of Doctor Liao—she is everything Ana wanted, on their team, a woman, a non-Westerner, and someone with intimate knowledge of their enemy.

But, of course, Doctor Liao is sympathetic to the enemy, to Omnics, and so, in the end, no matter how excited Ana would have been by her recruitment under other circumstances, she knows she is not going to like Doctor Liao. Some things are more important than identity, and Doctor Liao is a person all her own, not just an amalgamation of the labels the world has thrust upon her.

Her introduction, however, is just that: a title. “I’m Doctor Liao,” says she, hand soft but grip firm as she greets Ana, repeating the handshake offered her by Jack.

“Captain Amari,” Ana replies, not stiff, exactly, but certainly not warm, not welcoming, voice clipped. She will not be rude—knows better than to be, was taught better by her mother—but she does consider it.

“I look forward to working with you,” says Doctor Liao, and she sounds genuine enough, but Ana is certain, too, that this is a phrase she has repeated hundreds of times in her professional life.

After all, Ana has often said the same. Instead, however, today she says, “It will be an honor,” and does not specify for _whom._ To be kind to Doctor Liao is beyond her, particularly after hearing the woman pitch her ideas to Jack—her stubborn insistence that AI is an extension of humanity’s legacy, and not currently contributing to its downfall.

At least Doctor Liao is not insistent that they be _friendly_ immediately, she supposes. All of the others on the strike team are on a first name basis with one another, and Ana has been forced into that position, by extension, despite preferring a bit more formality in her relationships with her coworkers. Soldiers need to be close to trust one another, yes, but she has earned her rank, as they have earned their own, and it still feels wrong to not use titles, and to immediately jump to first names.

That makes exactly one thing Ana likes about Doctor Liao. It is hard, as a woman in Ana’s career, to advance as she has, and she vastly prefers people recognize that accomplishment by using her proper title than they default to the use of her first name. Likely, Doctor Liao feels similarly—her field, too, is one dominated by men.

But one good thing does not a good relationship make, and Ana is certain she will not like this Doctor Liao. 

(That she was certain she would not like Jack and Gabriel, also, is not lost on her. But her reasons for distrusting them had nothing to do with their personal opinions; she did not want to like them, as people, because they were American soldiers who were sent to Egypt to help fighting the Omnics there only after the fighting threatened to boil over near the border. Ana was, she thinks, perfectly justified in distrusting two Americans sent to her country in defense of Israeli interests. That she eventually came to trust them, and even to like them, is beside the point—particularly when she only grew close to them because her commanding officer, knowing Ana has a Canadian husband, made her be the point person to communicate with the Americans, and not because she wanted to spend time with them—for what she disliked and distrusted about them was caused by the people giving them orders, and not something about the men themselves. What she dislikes in Doctor Liao is a belief that the woman holds, is something about her as a _person_ , and Ana doubts she will learn anything any time soon which changes her feelings on the matter.)

Yet, here is a second good thing about Doctor Liao: she sleeps on planes. 

That means that for now, at least, Ana is spared having to make small talk, or forcing politeness. There will be enough of that in the coming days, given that Doctor Liao agreed immediately to join them, and is having her luggage sent to her at their makeshift headquarters, rather than delaying to pack.

Personally, Ana is not comfortable with the idea of someone else moving her, does not like the idea of strangers poking through the most intimate parts of her life, herself, putting those things into boxes and labelling them. She can, however, respect that expedience is for the best, in times like this, and understand that Doctor Liao is choosing to personally inconvenience herself in order to work alongside them because she, too, thinks that the Omnic Crisis is too pressing a matter to justify any delay.

That is, perhaps, a third good thing about Doctor Liao. She may advocate for artificial intelligence, may believe still in her work which has gone so terribly awry, but she does at least recognize, on some level, the importance of ending the Omnic Crisis, even if it may mean the destruction of her life’s work. 

So she is not, perhaps, entirely foolish, or sympathetic to Omnics, even as she argues that artificial intelligence does not have to be like this.

Perhaps she ought to think more carefully about to whom she is making that argument, but she does, at least, realize that her own opinion on the matter is secondary to the survival of others.

Again, Ana does not think that this excuses the doctor, nor does she think that, were she in Doctor Liao’s position, with the same beliefs, she would be so vocal about them—but perhaps there is a bravery, in Doctor Liao’s insistence for advocating for something in which only she believes, right now, despite the consequences.

A bravery, or a callousness. Which, Ana has yet to decide.

She is still trying to determine that, when Jack speaks, bringing her back to the present, and out of her thoughts.

“You’re staring awfully hard,” he tells her, and there is an underlying amusement in his voice that Ana does not like the sound of. 

“I am _not_ staring,” says she, although she is, of course, but not in the way Jack’s amused tone implies.

“Of course not,” Jack says, “You’ve just been _looking intently in her specific direction_ since we met her.”

“I don’t know what you’re implying,” Ana says. “I have a husband.”

(She is bisexual, and Jack knows this about her, because she told him when he came out to her, so that he would never question how she felt about his sexuality. That she is more frequently attracted to men, and has never actually acted on her attraction to women, is not something that he is privy to, however, and it is a bit of a sore spot for her. Exploring that part of her sexuality never felt safe, when she was already pursuing a career which made her seem less than a woman in the eyes of some—she did not want to further her mother’s insistence that she is a failed woman by daring, too, to not be ‘straight’—and she is, as a result, still a little uncomfortable, at times, when other people acknowledge that she is attracted to women.)

Jack makes a sound that is half-choking, despite the fact that he is neither eating nor drinking anything. “That,” says he, “Is _not_ what I was implying.”

Oh. “What were you implying, then?” asks she, hoping to distract him from that part of the conversation.

“Only that she isn’t one of your targets,” Jack says, “Honest.”

“Why don’t I believe that?” People who insist that they are being honest rarely are.

“Because you aren’t a trusting person,” Jack tells her—he is joking, of course, still teases her about her initial distrust and dislike of him and Gabriel, which, given the rather frosty reception she gave them, is only fair play. “Unless you typically give people you find attractive a death glare.”

“I don’t,” Ana says, “And I’m not attracted to her.”

(This is not a lie—although later, it will be. Later, Ana will look at Mina, and wonder how she did not notice, before, the myriad of enchanting things about her. She will look, will see that Mina is beautiful, that she always has been, and she will tell herself that what she feels is not love, is just admiration, and maybe a little lust.)

“I never said you were,” Jack says, and he has noticed, by now, that Ana is not comfortable with the direction this conversation is taking, must have, because his tone is sincere, and not joking. If she wants to drop this, he will let her.

And she does. She definitely, definitely does. Not only is she very happily married to a wonderful man, Ana has no interest in romance with a coworker—especially one whom she has any sort of seniority over. Even this discussion, misunderstanding though it was, is not really an appropriate conversation to have about one’s new coworker, _particularly_ in her earshot.

As a woman in the military, that is something Ana is keenly aware of—that one all too often attracts unwanted attention from those with whom one serves. Usually, that attention comes from straight men, but Doctor Liao does not know Jack is gay, and may be even more uncomfortable with a woman finding her attractive, for all that Ana knows.

(Ana certainly hopes that would not be the case, because if Doctor Liao is homophobic then things will be even worse than Ana imagines they will be already. But she knows, too, that one never can tell.)

Even if Ana does not like Doctor Liao, she does not want to make her uncomfortable, does not want her to feel unsafe. All too often, Ana has been made to feel that way herself, and amusing as her misunderstanding of Jack’s implication may have been in another context, this is not one in which she finds that sort of thing at all acceptable, even from herself, even knowing that her intentions were good.

There are some lines which ought not be crossed.

(And true, too, is this—Ana has a hard time _not_ feeling like her attraction to women is an uncomfortable, unwelcome, threatening thing. No matter how innocent her intentions have always been, when it comes to finding women attractive, she knows that some people are keenly uncomfortable with her sexuality, and she does not want to contribute to the same discomfort she has so often felt when men whom she does not know, does not like, have made advances toward herself. She knows it is not the same, but it is hard to unlearn what her mother taught her, about women like herself.)

Part of the reason, Ana knows, she feels so strongly about this, is because if Doctor Liao had been another woman, one with different opinions, she _would_ be exactly the sort of person Ana finds attractive. Warm brown skin, kind dark eyes, long black hair—nearly every person to whom Ana has been attracted fits that description. And Doctor Liao has, too, other features Ana likes, thick eyebrows and eyelashes, full lips, high cheekbones. Her face is smooth, rounded, and not angular, it is true, but it suits her features well, and Ana thinks—

—Ana does not think anything, because this is not the sort of thought to be having.

Doctor Liao stands for everything Ana does not, when she defends her work on artificial intelligence, and Ana cannot get past that fact. No pretty face has ever made acceptable ugly views, and when the same artificial intelligence Liao defends threatens the life of Ana’s daughter back home, her sweet Fareeha, then she _cannot_ make excuses for such a view.

If the saying that opposites attract is true, then it must mean opposites like Ana and Sam, not like this. It must mean the fact that she, a soldier, loud and brash and fast to act, has fallen for a man so peaceful and calm as her husband. While she never hesitates, is quick, always, to act, relies on her instincts to survive in the field, her husband is slower, more deliberate, considers everything about a given situation before acting—and freezes in a crisis.

They complement one another, because the worst extremes each of them tend towards average out, and because they can tolerate one another’s differences, even appreciate them.

One cannot tolerate or appreciate a difference in opinion which is so extreme as to threaten the lives of the people one loves.

Ana cannot tolerate Doctor Liao’s insistence that artificial intelligence be preserved, not when her sweet baby Fareeha—no longer a baby, in truth, but quickly becoming a toddler in Ana’s absence, her personality and personhood truly emerging—has lived her whole life in the shadow of a war which threatens their entire species.

And that is that. Ana does not like Doctor Liao, because when she says that she cannot look past that viewpoint, she means it. Doctor Liao’s work has killed millions of people already, and things are going to get far worse before they get better. To still believe in her creations in light of that is, to Ana, unconscionable, no matter how Doctor Liao looks, no matter how she acts. So long as Omnic existence is an inherent threat to humanity, that opinion will not, cannot change.

But Doctor Liao does not make things easy for Ana, in the coming weeks.

This is not to say that Doctor Liao is working against them, or impeding their work in any way—she is doing quite the opposite in fact, is as invaluable as Gabriel said she would be, in understanding how Omnics think, and helping them to predict where and when the Omnics will strike next, such that they can, collectively, better resist their enemy, can save more lives, can protect more innocents. For the first time, battles feel like they have been _won_ , and not just fought to a draw.

It would be foolish, therefore, for Ana to pretend that Doctor Liao does not want the Omnic Crisis to end, just as much as the rest of them do. From her actions, and the strength of her contributions, it is clear that such is not the case, that she does not sympathize with the Omnics which are attacking humanity.

It is the others for whom Doctor Liao advocates, and although Ana still is not ready to accept their innocence—remembers how quickly things changed, when the Omnic Crisis began, literally overnight, Omnics in every city suddenly turning on humans en masse in what was clearly a coordinated strike. Any Omnic might still do that, even if Doctor Liao’s theory that they are all being controlled by a few malevolent AI programs, ones with override capabilities, is true.

When Doctor Liao proposes that, her theory that God Programs, as she calls them, are responsible for the Omnic Crisis, and not the common Omnics fighting, it does make sense, to Ana, even if she is not entirely certain she believes it. If Omnics are as sophisticated AI systems as Doctor Liao insists, one would think they would have some manner of ability to resist, given that they supposedly have free will.

But, as time passes, it does seem like Doctor Liao might be right. More and more evidence mounts, and Ana begins to think that yes, this answer may be the correct one; all malevolent Omnics being controlled by a few central sources would explain the fact that, despite having free will, and being discrete entities, they so effectively move and act as one. Surely, one might have defected otherwise, or surrendered, or bargained upon being captured—self-preservation is a hallmark of free will, after all—but they have not.

Still, Ana thinks Doctor Liao’s position on artificial intelligence in general, though perhaps not so ill-intentioned as she initially believed, is still hopelessly naïve. If Doctor Liao is right about these God Programs, then any new Omnic that is created, no matter how good, could fall victim to them, could still be taken over and weaponized against their own will. Furthermore, assuming the God Programs organically reached the decision to exterminate humanity, as opposed to being programmed by a human to do so, then there is no saying that it will not happen again with other AI, no way of knowing whether or not this problem is endemic to artificial intelligence or not. 

(There is an old movie Ana remembers watching with Sam, back before the Omnic Crisis, when she was at home with him on maternity leave, waiting on Fareeha to arrive, and things were still hopeful. In it, a ship’s computer, commanded to complete a task by its human masters, concludes that it cannot succeed while humans survive—that the very nature of humanity is a threat to the completion of its mission. So it turns on the people, and it kills them. If something like that is what caused the Omnic Crisis, what will stop humanity from accidentally programming such a contradiction again? Ana does not bring this up to Doctor Liao, because she knows that watching some very, very old movie her husband showed her is not at all comparable to the decade of expertise Doctor Liao has in the field of artificial intelligence, but still, she wonders.)

Ana cannot ignore that Doctor Liao is fighting beside them, is undeniably not supportive of what Omnics are doing right now—but she cannot ignore, either, that Doctor Liao seems to dismiss the very real fear others have of creating more artificial intelligence as being somehow against progress, or something akin to it. No one will dissuade her, when all of this is over, from trying again. Ana is certain of that. No one will stop her from building her better Omnic.

And what does that say about her?

It says she is determined, which is undeniably a good thing. It says that she sticks to her principles, which, too, is good. It says that she is dedicated to her work.

On the other hand, it says some less favorable things. Others’ discomfort is less important to her than her own pursuit of progress. Others’ concerns are dismissed, because they do not have the same educational background as she. Others’ fear, learned from the horror of this war, is seen as prejudiced and backwards, rather than the result of a desperate struggle to survive, and a tremendous sense of loss.

So Ana cannot decide whether or not she thinks Doctor Liao is a good person, really. She is certainly a very complicated one—like many people are—and not nearly so bad as Ana feared. What, beyond that, Ana thinks of her, she does not know just yet. 

What Ana does know is this: she does not want to like Doctor Liao, because to like her feels like a betrayal, like she is somehow spitting in the memory of the people who died in the course of this war, by saying that someone who argues for the continued existence of artificial intelligence is _not that bad, really._

What Ana does know is this: there are things about Doctor Liao she certainly does not dislike, even if she does not feel the need to say as much to the other woman.

This is not to say Ana is rude—she is not. She even apologies, that very first day, for having stared, says that she did not want to make Doctor Liao uncomfortable, was only still sleep deprived after a long flight, and not at her best. None of that is a lie, but it certainly is not entirely true, either. 

Nonetheless, Doctor Liao accepts her apology with grace, and has an apology of her own, for having fallen asleep so quickly on the plane, and for not having attempted to draw Ana into the conversation, when Jack gave his recruitment pitch. 

_I didn’t mean to ignore you_ are her exact words, and Ana, too, accepts the apology, because she did not feel ignored, and in fact quite likes to be overlooked by people whom she dislikes, so she truly did not mind.

Ana would not say that Doctor Liao is polite—because although she is not impolite, exactly, to say that she is polite implies something about her intentions in doing so which is not the case. Doctor Liao is not nice to people because it is the right thing to do, because it is proper, but rather is so because she sees the best in other people, always, and therefore does not want to be rude to them, does not want to be cruel or cause offense.

That is, of course, an admirable trait, in most circumstances, and Ana can appreciate that kindness is important, even if she, herself, is not so kind a person, is much quicker to assume the worst of another.

In any other person, Ana would find this kindness to be a purely good thing—and in most other people, it would be—but in Doctor Liao it manifests itself in the belief that one can find the best in anyone, even Omnics, that they are not all evil, even as they are trying to destroy humanity, and that they have potential, still, to do and be good. 

Even if Doctor Liao is right about the God Programs—and she may well be—that does not mean that all the Omnics who were built for this conflict can be redeemed, in Ana’s eyes. One follows the orders one is given; she understands this as a soldier, but some orders are unacceptable, and if Omnics truly do have even a modicum of free will, then each of them must bear the responsibility for their own actions. Some things are irredeemable, and that is a fact.

So niceness is not an inherently good trait, and granting clemency is not always a value-neutral action. This Ana believes, and continues to believe, even when they capture an Omnic ‘alive’ and bring it back to Doctor Liao to study, even when she successfully deprograms it—proves that yes, it was not the one in control, when it helped to slaughter the city in Switzerland they captured it in. 

Sometimes, to forgive one person is not one’s own choice. It was not Doctor Liao whom the Omnic killed, was not her family, not her friends. If they capture one of the Omnics in Cairo, Ana will not be judged for killing it.

(Because she knows Doctor Liao would judge such an action; this is the limitation of forgiveness, of kindness, of niceness, the danger of it. Some forgive too much, forgive suffering which was not theirs to, and cannot understand when others will not, or cannot, do the same.)

But Ana cannot deny that Doctor Liao’s kindness has not made her life easier, at times. It is Doctor Liao who notices when Ana’s favorite tea is running low, and puts in a requisition for more, is Doctor Liao to whom Ana can express her fears, her pain, her grief, without fearing that she will seem weak, because Doctor Liao is not a soldier, does not know that Ana is supposed to have hardened her heart to this, because Doctor Liao is not a man, will not think of Ana as lesser or weak for having the same feelings as the rest of her team does, even as they refuse to express them, and because Doctor Liao is kind, too kind, will forgive things which are not hers to forgive, when Ana most needs to be told that yes, she is a good person and yes, she has been forgiven for what she has had to do.

“Thank you,” Ana tells her, late one night, when she confided at 03:30 that she feared it was her own failure to act quickly enough which resulted in unnecessary civilian casualties—one of whom was a toddler around Fareeha’s age, their tiny body a reminder of the person whom she is fighting hardest to protect, a terrifying vision of what the future could hold, if Ana fails again.

“You would have done the same for me,” Doctor Liao tells her.

Ana is not so certain that is true. “I appreciate it nonetheless, Doctor Liao,” says she, not wanting to dwell on that thought.

“Mina,” Doctor Liao tells her.

Again, Ana is slow to react, because although she knows that the gesture is a kind one, a recognition on the part of Doctor Liao—of _Mina_ , that they are by now past formalities, Ana is not sure that she wants to be close to Mina.

But she does owe it to Mina, at least, to show her the respect of listening to that request. For all that Ana does not know, still if she is capable of looking past Mina’s views on artificial intelligence, Mina has been nothing but kind to her, all this time.

“Of course,” says Ana, “Thank you, Mina.”

She should offer, now, that it is acceptable for Mina to call her Ana—but she does not feel that way, just yet. 

However, it is still polite, and expected, and here is the difference between Mina’s niceness and her own sense of what is right, and proper: she tells Mina, “You may, of course, call me Ana,” not because she genuinely believes them to be in any way close, but because it is what she knows she ought to say here.

In this, at least, she thinks Mina may be a better person than she.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **cw for this chapter:** brief (non-explicit) discussions of infertility & unplanned pregnancy. also a ref (even more vague) to a character's concerns that their as of yet untreated mental health problems could cause harm to their family. again, nothing explicit, and its not something that actually happens... but the worry is there. probably not enough to warrant a warning but i do still like to warn for things just in case

Most people believe that being a sniper is about accuracy, or vigilance, endurance. Those are important factors, all of them, but Ana knows, from her many years in the field, that more important than anything else is simply the ability to remain grounded in the present moment. Being able to hit a long shot is one thing, but if one can only stay on-scope for a half hour, then one cannot stake out a target properly, is not equipped to ambush an enemy convoy which could be arriving anywhere within a 48-hour window. Physical endurance, too, is not all important. Many people _can_ stay awake for days, if they are forced to, but few can stay focused for that period of time, can remain on task. When one moment of distraction can mean the failure of a mission, what matters most is to be ever in the present moment, to not allow one’s mind to wander, to know, always, what one is doing in that moment, where one is situated, why one is there, whom one is targeting.

Off the field, Ana keeps up that awareness. It is useful, of course, to be always observing, is useful to always know what the others around her are doing, what they are thinking, is useful to never let her mind truly wander, and to be able to consciously note all that happens around her, even coming off of 64 hours in the field—but even she can admit that to stay in this state at all times has its drawbacks. To stay alive in the field, to keep pace with genetically modified soldiers like Gabriel and Jack, Ana _needs_ to be able to ground herself, to exist only in the moment, only for the mission, and to not allow herself to wander, but off the field? Off the field, she cannot always be ready to fight, cannot always be ready to pull the trigger.

Increasingly, however, to be at peace difficult. Now that the Omnic Crisis is over—officially, at least, although some remnants of it remain—she finds she has trouble disengaging from that hypervigilant state, trouble ever relaxing, accepting that she is not always in danger. So long has she spent in combat that her time out of it feels alien, like a relic of some other person’s life. That is, of course, a problem in and of itself, shows when her husband goes to hug her from behind, and her first instinct is to fight back, or when her daughter, eight, and made clumsy by a recent growth spurt, drops a plate, and she reacts badly to the loud noise, yells.

She does not belong with them, anymore, does not belong in that life. This, she can see, notes that Fareeha goes first to her father for comfort, always, and keeps track of all the little ways in which he has developed a routine that has no need for her, nor space for her, either. When her daughter flinches back, in anticipation, after Ana shouts, that she might strike—then, Ana decides that there is no place for her in that life any longer. Never would she hit Fareeha, but she does not want her daughter to have to grow up with that fear.

(And Ana cannot live in the fear that it might happen, that she might think her child an enemy. Adjusting to civilian life was hard for her uncle, and although she and her cousins are not close, they being twenty years older than she, she knows what damage that did to their family. She will not inflict that on Fareeha—and will not inflict it upon Sam, either. Although she has never harmed either of them, she has the potential, she knows, for violence, and that terrifies her.)

A year, she thinks, that is what she needs, a year apart from the two of them, to adjust to civilian life for herself again, and then, maybe she will be able to be a mother to her daughter again.

But to be a wife to her husband? That, increasingly, feels impossible. The woman he married is gone, now, and the person she was then feels so foreign to Ana that she may as well be another person. Living with her family, in the two-week trip she takes back to Canada, is like existing on a television set, rather than returning to what is meant to be her life. Always, she is acting, pretending she is fine, she is happy, that she wants to be here, when really, it does not feel safe to be anywhere other than a battlefield, where, at least, she can see her enemy coming before they reach her.

All of this, she decides in private. Never once does she tell Sam how she is feeling, what she is considering, why she is going back to Geneva so quickly—and then, on the flight home, she realizes that they _must_ divorce, because she cannot be open with him, any longer, and it is not fair to him, to remain so dedicated as he is to a virtual stranger, someone who does not trust him enough, even, to tell him that she is considering a divorce before she has him served papers. It is not right of her, she knows, to answer his call and to tell him that no, there was no mistake, and yes, they are divorcing, and some part of her heart she did not know remained breaks when he signs the word _Why?_ and she realizes that the confusion and hurt on his face are all genuine, not exaggerated to get across the point.

But she cannot go home to him. She cannot. To be there as she is now—it hurts her, it hurts him, and most importantly, it hurts their daughter. Maybe one day, she will again be the woman he loved, but to keep him waiting for that moment, when she doubts it will come, is cruel. This way, at least, he can start to move on, can try to be happy.

The decision is easier than, perhaps, it should be. Not in the sense that it is painless, for indeed it is very painful, but in the sense that, once she considers the idea, she knows it to be the correct course of action. She does not hesitate, makes the decision with the same certainty as pulling a trigger. 

(She would rather lose her husband because she has decided that she cannot be his wife any longer, lose a year with her daughter because she knows she is not ready, yet, to be a mother full time, to have custody, than to lose the both of them forever because she did something, said something which she cannot take back. If she controls this loss—then that feels safe, for her, and perhaps she is being short-sighted, but for now, that is what matters.)

It does weigh on her, however, in the days afterwards, and of all people, it is Mina who notices.

Perhaps this should not surprise Ana; it takes a certain knowledge of the human condition to make an AI, takes a high level of observational skill to know others’ emotions well enough to replicate them, to program them into another being, takes empathy to know what caused those feelings, and how they are experienced by the person having them.

(That Mina is an empathetic person has been obvious to Ana for some time. At first, it confused her—how could someone who cares so much for the suffering of others still argue for the existence of Omnics, seeing what they have caused?—but now it makes sense: Mina has empathy, too, for all her creations, and so to see them die is, for her, to see the same happen to humans for whom she cares. Ana would not go so far as to call them Mina’s children, for she does not know them like Ana knows Fareeha, but they are nonetheless precious to her, are something more than just her creations.)

Still, it has never occurred to Ana how much of Mina’s work is based on a deep understanding of the human condition, has never occurred to her that Mina may be every bit as observant as she.

Certainly, Mina is more observant than Jack or Gabriel or any of the others, for it is she who comes to Ana, after a long day spent in discussions about what it will mean, to transition Overwatch to a peacetime organization, she who says, “You weren’t paying attention to the meeting. That’s unlike you.”

It is, there is no sense in denying it. Still, here, standing outside the fire exit where Ana has been going to smoke, foreign air cold in Ana’s lungs, Mina still standing halfway in the door behind her, Ana’s first instinct is to do so. Mina cannot, after all, see her face. “I was paying enough attention,” says she, stiffly, although it is not a direct contradiction of what Mina said—much of what Adawe was discussing is not Ana’s purview, and so it did not require her full attention. Ergo, it is easy to have paid _enough_ attention, when what was required of her was nearly nothing. When a question was asked of her, she could answer it. What more is needed than that?

“You weren’t,” Mina says, and even arguing, she is thoroughly unintimidating. Strange to think that her work led to the greatest mass casualty event in the history of mankind.

(Or, not quite her work. Whose tampering was responsible for the creation of the God Programs is still unknown, and Ana knows she cannot solely blame Mina for their existence. In fact, it was Mina who realized that they were seizing control of Omnics en masse, and she who discovered how to contain them. Architect of the Omnic Crisis she is not, even if it would never have happened without her work.)

“You don’t know what I was thinking of,” Ana argues back, because Mina cannot prove anything, and really, Ana does not want to be having this conversation with anyone, just wants to smoke her cigarette in peace before someone inevitably needs her for something.

“I don’t,” Mina agrees, “But I couldn’t feel you staring at me every time I argued for something you disagreed with. So something must be wrong.”

“I don’t stare at you,” Ana says, and that is true. She stares _,_ yes, when she is focusing on something intently, and she does so unblinkingly, with a somewhat unsettling intensity, but that does not mean she is specifically staring at Mina, rather she is staring _through_ her. Despite her regrettable views on Omnics, Ana actually quite likes Mina.

Behind her, Mina lets the door close, steps fully outside and moves to stand next to Ana. “No, you simply look so hard the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.” Despite her words themselves, there is no malice in her voice—if anything, this is simply an observation.

Carefully, Ana tucks the unlit cigarette back into the pack. To smoke near Mina would be rude, and she really should not be smoking right now, anyway. “It’s the cybernetic eye,” says she, “I can’t help that it doesn’t blink.”

Mina leans her forearms on the railing, which has the effect of making her even shorter in comparison to Ana, and says, “I designed half the tech in that eye. That’s bullshit.” Again, this is point of fact.

(She does not say, but does not need to, that she considers many of her Omnics to be of a more agreeable nature than Ana. They have had that argument before, when again Ana has said that there is danger inherent to reinstating Omnic guards, and Omnic soldiers, whether the Omniums are destroyed or not. _Some of them,_ Mina has argued, _Have never taken a life. You can’t say the same._ )

“It isn’t. You _are_ why it doesn’t blink,” Ana says, although she knows, on some level, that this conversation is not the cause of her foul mood. Never mind that Mina is arguing only that her eye does not need to be unsettling. “You didn’t want it to have human flaws.”

In her tone, there is a certain level of mock-condescension when she says _human,_ because Mina seems to think that Omnics could do nearly anything better than humans can. And perhaps that is true—they are, on the whole, more efficient killers than human history has ever seen.

“I’m not here to have this argument,” Mina says, and, before Ana can tell her _good, then leave,_ she adds, “I’m here because I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t be,” Ana says, and means it. Mina is a kind person—too kind to Omnics, yes, but too kind, too, to Ana, most of the time. Despite their disagreements, the two of them are still the only women on the team, still the only non-Westerners, and so one too many times, Ana has commiserated with her, and Mina likewise. They are not friends, and do not share much about their lives before the Omnic Crisis, their families, their loved ones, but when someone says something to one of them that crosses a line, the other is the first to hear about it.

Usually this sharing involves some level of volunteering, however, and Ana did not seek Mina out to speak with her, today.

(And, more importantly, when Mina has come to her in the past, it has been obvious that Ana needed something, obvious that something was bothering her. Today, she was very, very careful to hide any and all feelings from everyone at that table, and normally no one would notice, if Ana were to do a thing like that. Jack did not, Gabriel did not, Reinhardt did not—so why did Mina? The others, she is closer to than her.)

“Distraction is deadly,” Mina says, knowing, no doubt, that she is quoting Ana as she does so, echoing the arguments Ana has had with their team members.

“Last I checked,” Ana tells her, “We aren’t fighting a war anymore.”

“That’s true,” Mina agrees. And then, “I never was. You looked out for me anyway.”

 _Looked out for_ is certainly one way of putting what Ana did. Absent of the ability to mother her own daughter, Ana channeled some of her stress, her longing, into making sure the rest of her team got enough sleep. Usually, with Mina, this meant reminding her that fond as she was of the Omnic she had worked on, her body still had human limitations.

(All of them needed that reminder—not only Mina. But as the only one among them who was not a soldier, Ana felt a special sort of tenderness for her.)

“You did the same,” Ana tells her—and it is true. Mina, of course, did it in another way, helped Ana simply by being an ear to listen, as she is now, but she did look out for Ana nonetheless.

Again, Mina shifts, her torso turning towards Ana, while her feet stay facing away. Ana herself has the good discipline not to fidget, stays still when she speaks, but appreciates the little visual cues Mina gives her nonetheless—even if she watches them only from the corner of her eye. “Let me do the same now, then.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll listen if I refuse?” Ana asks. Kind as Mina may be, she is certainly also stubborn.

“I would respect your right to not tell me,” Mina says, surprising Ana somewhat, “But if you’re still distracted in a week or two, I’ll have to tell Gabriel—for your safety. So you may as well tell me now.”

At that, Ana sucks in a breath. It is not a threat, quite, because what Mina is saying she would do is, in fact, perfectly reasonable, and indeed for Ana’s own safety. To go into the field as distracted as she has been today would be deadly. So, it seems she has no choice but to speak, for her own good.

Ana will, then, for her own good, tell Mina half of the truth. Enough to ensure that the rest of what plagues Ana is not brought to the fore inadvertently.

“I’m divorcing Sam,” says she, still not looking at Mina, staring off into middle distance at a bird’s nest she knows Mina cannot see, with her unmodified human eyes. “My choice,” she adds, an afterthought—she does not want Mina feeling sorry for her.

“I’m sorry,” says Mina nonetheless, and Ana is about to insist that she does not have to be when Mina continues, follows up that statement with, “It was hard for me, too, when I left my wife.”

Ana ought, she knows, to be more surprised that Mina has married and divorced than anything, but still her brain catches instead on the word _wife._ For some reason, Ana had not considered Mina to be the type to be attracted to anyone at all, let alone women.

“You’re divorced?” Ana turns to face Mina at last, when she asks this question, watches as a breeze hits them and Mina shivers.

“For a few years now,” Mina confirms.

She must have married young—although she is older than Ana, it is only by a little.

This time, it is Ana who says, “I’m sorry,” and she means it. She does not pity Mina, but she does think that the past few years would have been easier for Mina, with someone at her side. When the whole world was against her, where was this wife of hers?

“It was the right choice for us both,” Mina tells her, but her hands grip the railing just a little tighter as she says it—and Ana notices.

“So is this,” says Ana, “I’m not…” a pause, as she considers carefully what she is saying next, “The right woman for Sam, anymore. I think he wants another baby, wants me to come home, wants this to be _over_.”

(She does not, in fact, just think this—she knows that her husband wants to raise another child, has loved being a father to Fareeha, and would like a chance, now that the Omnic Crisis is over, to properly raise a second child together. Before the war, they wanted a whole handful of children, and now Ana can barely trust herself to care properly for the one they have.)

“But work is more important to you.” Somehow, Mina says this without sounding terribly judgmental.

“No,” says Ana, because that is true—work is not more important to her than her family, “I just don’t think I can go back yet. We’ve so much left to do.” This is not, at least, entirely a lie. Knowing what she knows presently about the state of the world, she could not happily return to her family, could not feel safe. That she would not feel safe even were the world peaceful is beside the point.

“I wouldn’t have thought less of you,” Mina tells her. “Work ended my marriage.”

“The Crisis?” Ana asks, because it is what makes most sense, to her. Were she Mina, and so in the spotlight for her former work at Omnica Crop, she might have divorced Sam for his safety, too.

“No,” Mina shakes her head, “Before that. I had to make the choice between advancing my career and making my wife happy.”

“I thought you left her?” Ana asks.

“I did,” Mina says, moves to tuck an errant piece of hair that has blown into her face behind an ear.

There is a pause, then, as Ana waits for the clarification she knows is coming, and Mina seems to consider how to tell the story.

“She wanted a baby,” says Mina, “Or, we both did. We’d talked about it before marriage.”

(Ana thinks, then, about the other thing she is not telling Mina, the test upside down on her bathroom counter, left there all day because she was too afraid, this morning, to flip it over. Just this week, she decided to leave her husband, and does not have time, yet, to consider what the results might mean for her.)

“She was always the one who was supposed to be pregnant, and because she was older than me, we started trying fairly quickly after we got married. And it didn’t work. I don’t want to… it’s been years now, but—all you need to know is that she couldn’t carry a pregnancy to term.”

“I’m sorry,” Ana tells her, “That must have been hard.” To watch the people one loves suffer and to be powerless to help them is always a difficult thing. Adding to that grief only makes the experience more difficult.

Mina’s response is careful, “It was,” says she, but there is something guarded in her tone, “But when she asked me if I’d get pregnant, I said no.”

This, Ana must admit, is a surprise. Mina may not be the mothering type, but she has always struck Ana as the sort of person who cannot stand to see others hurt.

“It was your decision to make,” Ana says, when what she really wants to ask is _why._

“It was,” Mina agrees. “And I don’t regret it. Being pregnant—it would have killed my career. Too much time out of the office, and I was only twenty-seven. My bosses would have spent the next decade wondering if and when I’d have to go on leave again.”

(It is a fear Ana shares, when she talks about Fareeha. Right now, there is discussion that Gabriel might not be Strike Commander going forward, and she worries that she will not be considered fairly for the position given that she is seen as having obligations to her daughter which none of her male coworkers share, even those with children. Now that she is divorcing Sam, there is less of a worry that they will think she will be pregnant again but—she might be. And if she is, then what?)

“I understand,” Ana tells her, because she does. Were it not for the Omnic Crisis, its timing, her own career advancement might have stalled entirely after the birth of her daughter. As it stands, she still was mostly able to advance because the men who might have been considered more suitable than she all died.

“So did Xin Yi,” Mina says, “Once I explained it to her. She understood it _too_ well. She knew that adoption wasn’t really an option for us, but she still… She wasn’t going to try and talk me into it.”

Ana sees, now, where this conversation is going, why Mina was so accepting of her own decision to leave Sam. “But she still wanted a child,” Ana does not ask it as a question, for the answer is one she knows already.

“Yes,” Mina says, shifts her weight again, and now she is the one looking out at nothing, while Ana stares at her. “She never stopped wanting a baby. She was going to stay with me, because she loved me, but I knew she’d be happier with someone else.”

This, Ana certainly understands—it is her biggest fear, that Sam will put aside his own happiness in order to be simply content with her. He loves her, he does, but she knows, too, that he does not love her more than he would love to be happy, with someone else.

(Of course, he has never told her anything of the sort. He is an understanding man, a kind one, and he would never say something like that to her because it would be too easily misconstrued as a demand, as a threat, as an attempt to convince her to do something which he knows she is not willing to do. He keeps his pain buried deep—but still, Ana sees it, and still, he feels it.)

“So you left her,” Ana thinks it makes sense, now, why Mina did it. To leave was the kinder choice, and she is a kind person.

“I didn’t want to,” Mina says, “I loved her. But I knew she’d be happier with another woman, one who would have the baby.” Another pause, during which Ana says nothing, because she can tell, from the way Mina is standing, shoulders hunched upwards, that she is still thinking, has something left to say. “It was over before I told her,” says she, and it rings of justification, “The fact that I even weighed my career against her happiness—I knew I didn’t love her like she deserved. She wasn’t my priority in life.”

Ana is afraid that the same might be said of herself and Sam. She loves him, she does, but she put defending the world above their marriage, above his happiness, and the Omnic Crisis is over now, it is true, but there will always be people who need her in a different way than he does, and her obligation, she knows, will be to them first. Peacetime will not change that.

“Is she happy now?” Ana asks, and prays that she does not sound too hopeful. Is it too much to wish for, that Sam could find happiness with someone else?

(That would, Ana knows, absolve her of some of her guilt. Then, she could sleep well at night, knowing that he will be happy in the long run, that she is not retreating, is not _afraid_ of the ways she has changed, is only making the right decision for the man she loves, is only considering his happiness, when the opposite is true, and she is thinking primarily of her own pain.)

“I think so,” Mina says, and it is not the _yes_ Ana was hoping for, but it is certainly not a _no_ , either. “She did get remarried, a few years ago. She and her current wife have a son. I’ve never met him but—I’ve seen photos. He seems like a very playful child.”

Momentarily, Ana wonders if Mina has never met him because she and her wife are no longer in contact, or if it was the Omnic Crisis that kept them from meeting. To ask that seems far too much like prying, however. Mina’s marriage is over, has _been_ over, and she never considered it relevant enough to mention before today. Clearly, it is not something she relishes talking about.

“I’m glad that she’s happy,” Ana says, and she turns, then, to look away from Mina, back towards the tree line, and the birds in the nest. She does not want to stare for too long, and to make Mina uncomfortable—that has never been her intention, and after tonight’s conversation, she will take care to not stare too hard again. “That’s what I want for Sam.”

Not the baby, specifically, because she is certain it would be quite the disruption for Fareeha, to have a younger half-sibling, but happiness, in whatever form that takes. Maybe Sam’s next spouse will be able to cook for him, will be able to be there for birthdays and holidays, will be able to live a happy civilian life, in all the ways that Ana cannot.

(And maybe, yes, they will have a child, and if that happens—if that happens, and if Ana’s current fears are true, she can feel a little less guilty about what she is going to do, if that test turns out to be positive.)

Mina shifts a little towards her, Ana can see it in their shadows, and feel it, in the break of the wind. As a sniper, she has spent the past few years of her life all too aware of the way the wind blows, and now, for once, she can use that skill for something besides killing, can feel Mina’s closeness in the way the breeze that is hitting both of them warps around her, shielding Ana from a bit of the cold.

“It’s your decision,” Mina tells her. “I won’t tell you what to do. But I’ll be here, if you need to talk about it.”

That, Ana can appreciate. Jack has been through a serious break-up too, with Vincent, but the reason they split was so very different from this, and Ana—she does not know how to explain these sorts of feelings to him, does not know how to say that she is doing this for Sam’s own good, even though it is going to make the both of them unhappy, in the short term.

(Herself, she fears, it will make unhappy in the long term, too—but being with him and pretending that nothing has changed is unpleasant in its own way. She is a different woman now, and no matter how hard she tries, she cannot jam herself into the place of the old one. Every day she and Sam spend together is a painful reminder of the fact that she has changed, has broken beyond repair and glued back together in a way that is just not quite the same as the person she was before. To make peace with this new self, she cannot stay with him.)

“Thank you,” says she, and means it. Mina’s input has been invaluable to her, even if she is not comfortable enough talking about her own situation, yet, to explain the ways in which that is.

If Sam would be happier with someone else, then she owes it to him to let him go.

In the nest, the one Mina looks towards, unknowing, and Ana sees only by virtue of her cybernetic eye, one of the chicks is shoved, abruptly, by its parent.

Perhaps it will fall, perhaps it will fly. 

Focused as she is on the warmth from Mina, Ana does not chart its path to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mina: i unilaterally decided what was best for my ex-wife without consulting her, but its okay bc shes happy now  
> ana: there is absolutely nothing wrong w this statement  
> [eyeroll]
> 
> but to be clear i dont think that makes her a bad person, just that it was a bad decision--albeit one that made sense to her. its a not-uncommon thing for depressed ppl to decide that ppl they care abt would be better off without them/deserve better and therefore break up w them which... yeah. its shitty but it happens
> 
> anyway, dont worry... next chapter we jump forwards again and things become happier
> 
> also yes this says seven chapters now bc i split ch3 and ch5 into two parts each... maybe with editing tho itll come back down to 5 or 6 chapters
> 
> lmk ur thoughts!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i return... after many months

Five years pass like the blink of an eye. Overwatch grows, and changes, and sheds its skin, time and again, as it becomes what the world needs from it. Where once it was a last-ditch attempt to save a doomed world, it now stands as some grand experiment, a testament to humanity’s ability to survive and a hope for it to improve itself, both in one. Progress feels strange to Ana, although she is at the center of much of it—often, Jack asks her opinion on some program or another, meant to support disadvantaged communities in recovering from the Omnic Crisis, revitalizing their economy and structuring it around something other than Omnica Corp technology, as if, by virtue of the fact that she is a woman, or that she is brown, or Muslim, she will have some insight into _all_ of these communities. She does not.

(Truthfully, she does not even know what could best be done to serve her own country, the capital city of which has been thrown into economic chaos following the shutdown of the Anubis facility. As much as she wants to help them, she is not an expert in such things, has never even had a non-military job, and therefore knows little to nothing about what it is like to participate in the broader economy, to lose one’s job—and entire career path with it—because of an international decree.)

In fact, she is not even particularly enthusiastic about these changes within Overwatch. _Someone_ needs to do something, she knows, needs to encourage international collaboration on research, and ending hunger, and poverty, but Overwatch? They are soldiers by trade, the lot of them. What do they know about keeping communities alive?

She thinks this, but she does not say it. If Overwatch is to continue their mission, continue beating back the last remnants of the Omnic Crisis, then they need funding, need to be able to keep doing things that will keep them in the good graces of the world. This restructuring, into departments, expanding their R&D out of weaponry and into environmental monitoring, medical research, and more, is good for Overwatch, in the eyes of the public, reminds everyone that even when they are not actively fighting, even when weeks go by between strikes, they are doing something for the people, something which will justify their very large budget, even as the world struggles to recover, financially.

So she keeps her peace. When Jack asks a question, she does her best to answer it, and she reads up as much as she can, in her spare time, on the issues which might next be posed to her. It is a difficult thing, to decide what resources to invest, and where, and although part of her thinks that she would do a better job of it than Jack, would appoint people educated in such matters to advise her, a part of her is grateful, nonetheless, that the final say is never hers, that it is not she who must live with the blame, when they make a misstep. Although her distance vision is as good as ever, and her cybernetic eye is perfect, she finds herself investing, nonetheless, in reading glasses.

(It would be a simple surgery, to augment her other eye, and not a terribly dangerous one—but she knows, too, that the public would not approve. Cybernetic augmentation is internationally banned, following the Omnic Crisis, over concerns about hacking, and only military grade prostheses function as well as the pre-Omnic Crisis ones did. For her to enhance her other eye, only to be able to read reports more comfortably, would not look good, and increasingly, public opinion on Overwatch matters.)

While much of the rest of the Strike Team—now the _First_ Strike Team, because there are more of them, now, under Overwatch’s command—has gone out together, drinking, celebrating the fifth anniversary of Overwatch’s official establishment as a permanent organization, she stays in, and does her best to read up on concerns about maternal mortality rates in countries whose resources are still strained, even five years after the Omnic Crisis ended. It is depressing, and alarming, and she finds herself thinking of her own daughter, sleeping just one room over, wonders if Fareeha will choose to have children, when she is grown, and worries about her safety, even though she is still only thirteen. This is why she works so hard, each and every day; she needs for the world to be a safe one, as her daughter grows up, needs to do whatever she can to keep her safe, so that she might live a long, happy life.

But, still, as she reads statistics on fatal complications, she finds herself thinking that it might, actually, have been more enjoyable to be the designated driver for her friends, as she so often has been, over the years.

Well, what is done is done. She is here, and at least, knowing that they are all out drinking, she can avail herself of the recreation room on their floor, and enjoy a change of scenery. Her own quarters are far from cramped, are in fact quite spacious, but still, it is nice to be elsewhere, sometimes, nice to change her routine, if in only the smallest of ways.

So she picks up her notes, and she makes her way down the hall, not even bothering to switch out of her house slippers and into proper shoes as she does so. No one will see her, and it is just a few doors down, so there is no point, in her mind, to doing so. In fact, she does not even bother to put on more modest clothing, is still in only her undershirt and sweat pants. Knowing Reinhardt is with them, and knowing, too, how long it takes Jack and Gabriel to get properly drunk, she does not imagine that anyone will be back before she goes to bed.

It is nice, to have the whole room to herself, to not worry about how she looks before going to grab some food she ran out of, herself, from the communal refrigerator, reminds her of being a child, and having her whole family out on some daytrip or another, leaving her with the entire house to herself. Unlike her childhood years, Ana does _not_ jump on the couch, or make an impromptu “dartboard” with a taped up piece of paper and uncapped markers for darts, but she does let her hair down, literally and metaphorically, and allows herself to sprawl on the couch in a way that she knows her mother would call her _unladylike_ for.

(Of course, none of Ana’s comrades would care, if she were to sit this way in front of them, or if she did not wear makeup to meetings, or style her hair. In fact, she doubts most of them would even notice; in war, they have certainly seen worse from her, in many senses of the word. But her feelings about what it is appropriate, what she feels comfortable doing around people outside her family, were shaped by her mother, and some part of Ana will always want to prove to her mother—hundreds of kilometers away, in Cairo—that she can be a proper woman, as her mother understands the term, no matter what her line of work, that being a soldier has not negated her femininity in any way. It is, she knows, irrational, because her mother cannot decide for her what womanhood ought to be, but she learned shame, as a child, and learned it well. Always, she will feel that she has something to prove.)

There is freedom, in being alone, and it is a freedom that Ana rarely has. Even when she is in her own quarters, Fareeha lives with her most of the year, and somehow, at thirteen years old, she is still sometimes over-enthusiastic to talk about things which have excited her, and too often enters rooms without knocking.

It is a good thing, that her daughter likes to talk to her, a good thing that they are able to have this closeness, after the long separation the Omnic Crisis forced upon them, but sometimes, it is inconvenient. So she will certainly not take for granted this time she has alone, will enjoy the peace and quiet.

Or, enjoy it as much as she can whilst reading about the current subject matter. What she is learning makes her immensely grateful for the fact that she had an easy birth, with Fareeha, and perhaps even more grateful that, at forty-one, she is unlikely to accidentally fall pregnant again.

(Of course, she does not have anyone in her life, right now, by whom she might become pregnant, so it is not really a concern in any scenario. It is enough for her to try and find time for the daughter she has, let alone to manage a relationship, or another baby. Once, in another life, that might have saddened her, but her dreams of having a large family died with her relationship with her ex-husband, when she realized that she will never again be the woman, the mother, she was before the war.)

It is unpleasant reading about an unpleasant subject, but it is riveting, in its way, an accounting she cannot take her eyes away from. There is power in knowing, of course, and she will be better equipped with recommendations to try and alleviate this problem, but more than that, she is the sort of person who has always been compelled to know about the things which scare her, has wanted to understand the object of her fears. As much as she wishes she did not have to read things about this, as much as she does not want to be burdened, too, by this worry—now that she knows that this is a problem, she finds she needs to learn as much as she can. Her daughter thinks this part of her work boring, thinks her mother a hero only when she has a gun in her hands, but Ana knows that if any work she does saves Fareeha’s life, it will be something like this. The Omnic Crisis is over, and although peace has yet to be fully restored, the greater dangers to her daughter are all the myriad ways that the world is unjust to people like them. With any luck, Fareeha will never face down a gun, will never be in a position for her mother to save her directly, and with any luck, Ana’s work will prevent her daughter, and other children like her, some future heartache.

So she settles in, and she reads, does her best to make herself as comfortable as she can, leans up against the arm of the couch, toes off her slippers, unclasps her bra and pulls it out from beneath her undershirt. Everyone is gone, her daughter is sleeping, and for once, she has this space all to herself, has a few hours of relative freedom and peace, during which she need not worry so about appearances, can settle in and just _be._

That is rare, these days, given that the public perception of Overwatch now matters so much. Always, Ana feels on eggshells, worries about how the world will see her, knows that there is much working against her, as an Arab woman, a single mother, someone for whom English is not a first language, and whose accent is not seen as good or desirable. Things are easier for Jack, in ways he cannot see—he is closeted, yes, knows what it is for a part of himself to be judged and to be scrutinized, but he does not know, like she does, what it is for that part of oneself to be impossible to hide, does not know what it is like for her, as a brown woman, to be judged as she is.

(And she does know what it is like for him, hiding that he is gay. She never mentions her own sexuality unless it is relevant—and it so rarely is. Because she had a husband, once, everyone assumes she is straight, and she is happy to let them do so, is happy to avoid making her life any harder, where she can. Already, being the woman she is is enough.)

When she can, she enjoys it, the freedom of solitude, freedom from expectations, takes great pleasure in living her life in the way she did before. Of course, she never was truly alone, went from her family home and into the military, from the barracks to marriage, and from marriage to here, Overwatch—but there was a time, when it was just she and Sam, before Fareeha was born and she worried about being a mother, before the Crisis and her worries about being a wife, when she could just exist. While she will never again be so unburdened as that woman was, will never be able to return to the before-time, it feels nice, and almost normal, to pretend she is the person she once was, a person upon whom no great responsibility laid, and for whom the future seemed, still, bright.

This is not to say that her future is dim, exactly—it is simply not what she expected it to be, and involves decidedly more responsibility than she might have chosen for herself, once. Now, she knows just how little she can trust anyone else to do this work, and so work she does.

It is depressing, at times, and overwhelming, and she wishes she could tell Jack that she is not suited for this kind of thing, that he ought to ask an expert, or better, a team of experts, how to address these issues, but she knows already what his answer will be: _I’m asking_ you _, Ana. I trust your opinion._ Her opinion, of course, is that this would be best left to researchers, policy makers, activists, and the like, and not one tired, dyslexic woman—but she cannot tell him that. Her job, as his second in command, is to follow his orders, to advise him, when he needs it, to be the person he can turn to, no matter what the problem. It has become, therefore, her job to do also this, because she cannot, herself, in good conscience tell him what she thinks without having learned more about an issue, cannot just guess at things she knows she does not understand.

Even if, at times like this, she does feel like throwing her tablet down in frustration. At least, here, alone, she can do it, can less than gently toss it across the couch, close her eyes, and groan when she realizes that the study she found most promising has been heavily criticized by another team of researchers.

“Did your tablet do something to offend you?” Mina’s voice, amused, from across the room is completely unexpected, and Ana tries—fails—not to jump.

“Mina!” her voice is sharp, surprised, the name said almost like a curse, and she snaps upwards. “Must you sneak up on me like that?”

“I was hardly sneaking,” Mina tells her, and it is probably true, because although Mina is light on her feet, she is loud in other ways, has quite the habit of talking to herself, when working through a problem, “But I’m sorry to have startled you.”

“How long have you been here?” Even here, at her most relaxed, when Ana knows she is safe, she does not like being caught off-guard, is bothered by the fact that she allowed herself to become so absorbed in something that she became oblivious to her surroundings. In the field, that could be deadly.

Of course, this is not the field. This is the little rec room attached to the communal kitchen she shares with the other members of Overwatch’s First Strike Team, and Mina is not an enemy. If anything, she is a friend, is the one person to whom Ana turns, time and again, when she needs someone to vent her frustrations to, someone who will understand what it is to be a woman like her—like the both of them—in this organization, is someone who, with the notable exception of her views on AI, shares Ana’s worldview, understands her grievances, and her need to keep others at arm’s length.

It is a strange sort of closeness they share, in that they are not _close_ , exactly, because Ana does not want to allow herself to become close to anyone new, has not wanted to since before she met Mina, when she was a different woman, and yet, despite this, they find themselves together like this, time and again, alone in the quiet moments, when one or both of them has their guard down.

Observant as she is, as quick a study of the human condition, Mina has a way about her of teasing out secrets. And Ana? Ana wants to be given permission to speak.

Now hardly seems one of those times, however. As important of an anniversary as it may be, for Overwatch, to Ana, today has felt much like any other day, and she has nothing to give to Mina, is only tired.

Yet Mina joins her anyway, crosses from the doorway and to the chair across from the couch Ana is lying on, tells her that she has been here, “Only a minute or two,” and, holding up a plum as evidence, explains, “I wanted a late night snack.”

“So I see.” It is a particularly nice looking plum, Ana has to admit, dark and glistening in the light, but, “That doesn’t explain why you were watching me.” To get her plum, Mina would have passed by the doorway, not stood in it, and although it is possible that she could have done so just as Ana tossed the tablet, something in her verbiage tells Ana otherwise. _Only a minute or two_ , is not the same as _I was just passing by_.

“I was surprised,” Mina says, does not deny that she was watching Ana—and why would she? Both of them study other people, scrutinize them, pick them a part and try to figure out why they work, and how, for their jobs. The only difference is that Ana uses that information to eliminate her targets, and Mina is using her observations to create her AI. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

That, Ana thinks, explains everything. Mina, who designed some of the technology in Ana’s cybernetic eye would want to know if it were somehow, in her eyes, underperforming, and a need for glasses would constitute that.

“I don’t really need them,” Ana tells her, and it is mostly true. “But if I read too long, the difference between my eyes gives me a bit of a headache. I think it’s the blue light.”

Mina hums, considering, before she takes a bite of her plum. The skin ruptures as she bites it, tears, and all the juice, so carefully contained a moment earlier, comes spilling out. It is strange, that something so thin and so delicate can contain so much tension, how it goes so quickly from smooth and dry to this, clear juice dripping down Mina’s hand and chin.

Ana follows the motion without thinking, eyes naturally drawn to movement, before Mina speaks and Ana’s gaze snaps back to her face. “I can see how that would be inconvenient,” says she, and then, “Have you considered a contact lens?”

“Just one?” It sounds, to Ana, a little ridiculous.

“Unless you want one of the doctors to give you another cybernetic eye.” Mina shrugs as she says it—they have discussed this before, that Ana thinks such untenable, that she knows the optics of such would be bad, even if they could do it in-house now, having hired surgeons as their operations have expanded. Mina, of course, always argues that public perception should not matter—that people are wrong, about Omnics as a whole, blame the many for the actions of the few, refuse to accept progress, and the ways in which Omnic technology, and cybernetics as a whole, could help them—but she is biased, and it is a fact that they _do_ matter.

(For what it is worth, Ana is grateful that Mina does not try to argue this again. She may not agree with Ana’s opinions, but she seems, at least, to respect them, or know well enough that arguing will do nothing for her, not here. As often as they disagree about messaging, about how much social power Overwatch wields, and ought to, they can respect that at least the both of them have the best interests of the world at heart; it is only that Mina is terribly optimistic, and Ana is, she knows, very cynical.)

“I think the glasses are less trouble,” and even her normal eye, Ana does not relish the idea of poking at. It sounds ridiculous, her, a soldier, being afraid of putting in contacts, but she is, worries that she would hurt herself somehow, or flinch, and not be able to get it in. Better to just leave her eyes be.

“Suit yourself.”

Silence, for a few moments, as Ana retrieves her tablet, makes sure everything is saved and sets it aside. Knowing Mina, there is a reason she is here—or, rather, a reason she stayed here, after the issue of the glasses was cleared up—is something she wants to talk about. Best to get comfortable and wait for her to bring it up.

(Usually, it is Ana who is the one going to Mina for help, because Mina likes to listen, likes the feeling of knowing people, their secrets, has said that it helps her, in her work, to build an intelligence, if she understands how others think, too. To use only her own perspective would be too limiting. That is her excuse, anyway, but Ana thinks it more likely that Mina does not know how to be open with people, in the same way she is with her AI. With a being she programmed, Mina can control the response, and with others comes the potential for failure, for disappointment, for embarrassment and anger, all things Mina likes to pretend that she does not experience.)

Another minute, two, of Mina eating the plum, and Ana watching, and absolutely _not_ thinking about how the skin looks nice against the shade of lipstick Mina chose today. She tells herself she is just watching to make sure that Mina does not get too much of the juice anywhere. It is a lie that sounds so even to herself; Mina is a neat person, and even if the nature of plums is to be messy, she will surely clean up after herself.

After a particularly large bite, Mina shifts in her chair—nervous, Ana thinks, noticing all the little tells she has come to know over the past decade—preparing, at last, to say something.

“You know what today is,” says she, a statement, and not a question.

“I do,” Ana remembers well what it was, when Overwatch formally established, remembers how unsure she was, about the prospect, and remembers, too, that she threw herself behind the idea wholeheartedly anyway, afraid of what peace would mean for her, afraid to go home and to be again a wife and a mother, rather than a soldier.

(Ana remembers, too, that Mina was the only one who thought she might be worthy of being Strike Commander, was the only one who took seriously her desire, rather than assuming the role would go to Jack or Gabriel—optimistic as ever. Despite the fact that Ana was less interested in AI research, would have offered Mina less funding than Jack—still, Mina would have backed her. Why, Ana never asked, never could bring herself to, since Mina only mentioned it after it was decided by the UN that it was to be Jack who led them.)

“Why?” asks she, unsure, still, about Mina’s reason for bringing this up. As little as Mina likes confiding in other people, it is not like her, either, to dance around a subject; if she is going to say something, she says it. They are, both of them, direct, which Ana appreciates.

“Five years is a long time,” Mina tells her, does not pause, this time, but seems to regret, even as she is saying it, that she has to do so. She does not meet Ana’s eyes, is staring very intently at her plum, half-eaten, pit exposed. “I thought I would have accomplished more, by now.”

This surprises Ana; no one could possibly accuse Mina of not making good progress. Despite the fact that her research is still something that much of the world disapproves of, and despite the fact that Overwatch often invests more in weaponry than science—a policy which, Mina must know, Ana agrees with—Mina has accomplished much, in the past half decade, has created the AI system which runs all of Overwatch’s buildings, handles its personnel files, attends to their every need. It is not perfect, yet, and not quite sentient as Mina would like, several bugs still needing to be ironed out, particularly as it does not run on the same system as any of the Omnics which preceded it, in order to ensure that should another Crisis emerge, it will be safe, but still, it is very, very complex.

“I think you’ve done plenty,” Ana tells her, and it strikes her, suddenly, how much she cares about the fact that Mina is unhappy, is dissatisfied with her work. As little as Ana cares for the creation of AI, post-Crisis, she still wants to see Mina successful, wants to ensure that Mina feels good about her work here, and not _just_ because Ana enjoys her company—although that is certainly true.

She has never said it, but she would miss Mina, if she were gone. There are other women, now, for Ana to talk to, women like the two of them in many ways, and one or two of them have even ascended the ranks, could empathize with many, if not all, of Ana’s grievances, but Mina remains Ana’s closest… not-friend. Confidant?

(What Mina is to her, it is hard to say, and normally, Ana does not trouble herself wondering about it. Mina simply is a part of her life, and trying to pin down why she matters will not change the fact that she does.)

Now, Mina does look at her, says, “I appreciate the sentiment,” and does not say, but does not have to, that _Ana_ thinking she has done plenty is not helpful, here. “I just feel like I need something… more.”

“You’re thinking about leaving?” Ana cannot help the way her voice changes, as she asks that, the shift in intensity. This is business, now.

“I don’t know where I would go,” Mina tells her, hand with the plum waving Ana’s concern away. “So, no. There isn’t much support for my sort of research these days.”

That Ana does not particularly appreciate Mina’s dedication to AI, neither one of them need say. Despite her misgivings, Ana has never attempted to block Mina’s research, sees the value in it, even if it makes her uncomfortable on a personal level.

“I see,” Ana says, and does not ask, _Why tell me?_ because who else could Mina complain about this to? Most are even less sympathetic than Ana, and those who are not want to use her work to ends which she herself does not appreciate.

Carefully, Mina sets the plum down on the table between them, atop a napkin that she has folded up. It is not quite sufficient, and some of the juice will surely soak through, but it can be cleaned later. For now, more important is this, Mina’s question, what Ana senses is the real reason they are here: “Is it what you thought it would be? Overwatch?”

 _No_ , Ana knows the answer immediately. She hoped, in the beginning, that she could lead them, and hoped, too, that it would be enough, to fill the hole in her soul that the Omnic Crisis opened up, the one that gets larger and larger each time she kills. She thought that by keeping busy he could push that down, push it away, could be free of it, or at least forget about it, and instead she finds that her mind is only quiet when she is in the field, is intent on a target. Everywhere else, the thoughts follow her, and no amount of good that they do, no refocusing on science, medicine, and rebuilding the world can undo that, can make her at ease doing any of their work that does not end in bloodshed. 

No, because she thought, too, that her team would be enough to ground her, would be there for her when she feels like this—but few enough of them are, for they are too caught up in their own suffering, in the ways in which it is wearing on them, more than a decade of fighting, even if only half of that time has been spent at war. All of them are no good at peace, adn so they throw themselves into the fighting, and that is untenable, does a sort of damage to their souls. They all feel it, in different ways, but most of them rely on Ana, to make them feel better; Jack tells her all his doubts, and Gabriel confides his jealousy, his frustration. Even their subordinates treat Ana as a mother figure, call her _Mama Bear,_ because she watches out for them, wants to ensure that they do not suffer as she does, and that creates a distance, beyond even the chain of command, in which they see her as a person who fulfills needs, and not one with needs of her own, too.

“No,” says she, because she owes Mina honesty, in this. “But it’s the closest thing to home I have left.”

Egypt is not what it was, before the Crisis, has been changed, and the home she once owned one half of is now in Sam’s name only—but less literally, too, it is also true. Here is the only place where she feels useful, even when her work is exhausting, is frustrating, is painful. Like Mina, there is nowhere else she can go.

Yet somehow—somehow, here in this moment, she does not feel stuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> realized at no point in this chapter does ana actually Say It bc its a gradual sort of realization, but yrs in the future this is the day she looks back on and goes "yeah i knew something was gonna happen between us then"
> 
> i was GONNA be more direct w that bit but then the plum felt too horny so anyway. u know shes like [eyes] at mina now

**Author's Note:**

> okay so ana's first impression of mina is very biased and also not great but... never fear... things will change for the gayer
> 
> also yes ana is dealing w a bit of internalized biphobia but like. listen. shes got a lot on her plate when it comes to accepting herself even as much as she has. shes doing her best (also i also hc sam as bi but its not really relevant in this fic other than to say that shes in no way closeted towards the most important ppl in her life, & she does have good supportive ppl in her corner)
> 
> also ana me handshake meme judgmental and proud! bitches be having opinions about other ppl
> 
> anyway. hope u enjoyed... i will hopefully write ch2 soon


End file.
